If you fell down a well with no bottom or water, essentially a bottom-less pit, would you eventually starve to death?

I showered! It was the most unsatisfying shower I have ever taken. I'm clean; my hair is clean. But it was uncomfortable. I had to put the three little external tubes of my catheter into a plastic baggie, which I then had to tape over the entry and exit sites. I think I'm going to have a sweet little scar right above my collar bone from where they inserted the catheter. (note: a good lot of this I'm mentioning mostly for the shock-value. It's really not that bad). I also have two sweet matching holes in my back from the bone marrow biopsy. I seriously think it's funny how many holes I have in me now. There are a lot. Hold on, one of them is bleeding. brb. alright, crisis averted. So, I can hear pretty much everything from the room next to mine. I don't know why, but the conversations of the man who is staying in there are always totally clear. It's weird. He's on some sort of room isolation, but he always has people visiting. I'm pretty sure he's a marrow transplant patient. Good luck to him. I'm debating walking around the halls with my guitar, just to try and break the ice with my fellow sicklings. Maybe I'll wait until I'm bald to do it. Or, more likely, it's not going to happen at all. meh. On a slightly related, more serious note: I really don't want to lose my hair. I've grown rather attached to it throughout these many years. Rather, it's grown, attached to me. I can deal with the chemo, the nausea, blah blah blah, but I'm just vain enough as to want to keep my hair. I feel like that's reasonable, but I don't know. Least of all, my head is going to be cold. Most of all, I'm scared of the reactions of people my age. Because you don't normally see an attractive 20-year old with no hair. I'm pretty sure most people won't be sure how to react. Balls. Oh well. I'm not exactly expecting to meet the love of my life while I'm going through chemo. So, it should be okay, and I should stop worrying. Word.

Contemplations of a curious quality.

Sweet. 32 people have looked at my profile. About half of them have been me. Sigh. I fear that my words aren't reaching the audience they should be. The numbers are just too low. I wonder, should I hire a lobbyist? He or she would get my message out to the masses. All things to think about. Perhaps I should post a Facebook flier. Oh Wait! I can't get on to Facebook here! It's blocked. I cried a little when I saw that. Just a little. And then I continued to blog. One of the numerous nurses just brought me a little booklet called "Chemotherapy and You: A guide to self-help during cancer treatment." I'm actually not quite sure how I feel about it... I feel like the best thing for me would be to be around people my age with cancer, not to try and deal with it by reading some gaily illustrated booklet (I use "gaily" in its rightful sense, that being happily, colorfully). But I have to go through the motions and try not to look too disdainfully at the social-workers whom I know are only trying to help. You know how when you get kicked in the stomach, your stomach hurts? Yeah, that's kind of how my neck feels right now. Sweet! Too bad I wasn't actually kicked in the neck. Because if I had been, I would have retaliated against my attacker, and he would have many worse problems than a sore neck. Sadly, that is not how things went down. But that is neither here nor there. I must prepare myself, mentally and physically, for the looming arrival of my family. Oh! Side note! There's a helicopter pad on the roof. One of the nurses said they take patients for rides... Holy crap, how sweet would that be? I'm going to work on it. Aight, peace my hommies.

Tubular!

I got drugged today. The good kind, not the creepy-guy, put in your drink kind. Morphine and valium-related goodness. And then they threaded a tube into me. Starting at the neck, then into my vein, and back out again. Hoorah. It was the weirdest thing when they gave me the anesthesia. I felt like I was high, only without the pot. I wanted to laugh. Also, there was this thing above me, and I asked the doctor, "Is this thing supposed to be moving?" Because, seriously, it was. Just sort of shifting around a bit. Hahahaha, I told the doctor, "This is why I'm never doing acid." He said something; I don't remember what. Anyway, the long and short of it is that there's a tube in me, and I had my first experience with hallucinogenic hospital drugs. I'm sort of hoping they'll give me morphine for the extreme pain in my neck right now, but I'm not going to push that. The really funny thing is the number of people who have seen my chest. I, who have always been over-protective of my body, am now a thing to be poked, prodded, drained, and sewn back together. Awesome. I'm flaming exhausted right now though, so I'm going to see if I can't squeeze in a nap. They're doing a heart scan (insert technical term here) later, and I think a CAT scan as well. This is all so intense. I've become a weird combination of bitter and empty. I really don't know how to feel about all this.

Unfettered?

I am not some falcon to be set loose on the rabbits and squirrels in the forest, only to bring back my prey to whomever let me go in the first place. I am a human bean with real, raw, and occasionally bipolar emotions. I need no leather straps attached to my skinny ankles. I need my own open spaces and the freedom to kill small rodents whenever I feel like it. I also need to shave my legs. On a slightly unrelated note, I have an awkward intern! He's cute in that whole, mid-twenties, I don't get enough sleep, and I'm not quite sure how to talk to this girl (woman?) who could be my younger sister or, in a different world, my girlfriend. He was sitting in here asking me about my medical history (no, I'm not preggers; no, I'm not really down with ex, etc), and he was totally wired. I wanted to ask him if he drank coffee much, but I decided against it. Something about patient/doctor boundaries... Meh. Aside from that, nothing too exciting happening here. I might brush my teeth fairly soon. Oh, I put on pajama pants. That was exciting. I guess they take my vitals every four hours here. That's lame. So, no sleeping pills for me. Maybe I can ask for them, horde them, and sell them to shady middle-schoolers at home... Something to think about. For now though, I have to go tinkle into my little cup. They like to measure its volume. Fun times in the toilet. Wish you were here!

Bicycle, bicycle! I want to ride my bicycle; I want to ride my bike.

And.... I'm in the hospital. And.... my ass is actually numb. Correction: half of my ass is numb. They did another bone-marrow biopsy. For everyone who thinks otherwise, those things are not fun. Six-inch needles, bone-numbing serums, super intense marrow extraction... And the best part is it looks like I'm going to be getting quite a few more of these over the next six months. woo. woo.ng to
what is the sound of one hand typing? pretty much the same as two hands but slower. i'm currently having platelets dripped into my vein, so can't really reach the comp. with my right hand. i've got a nice view of chicago from my room. no roommate either. goo. mmkay, I guess it's dinner time for me. I got my other hand back.

hurmh. currently contemplating wittier subject lines.

The dirty, dirty Mexican food was just that. Minus the bag of potato chips. It made me nauseous. Enchiladas verdes + Las Palmas + weakly affluent western suburb of Chicago = not so good times. I jammed with my brother tonight. No matter how amazing he gets at guitar, and he is damn good, I can, do, and will out-sing him any day. Thank God for that. Alright, more from the hospital tomorrow. pax.

Untitled II

So, I saw my Boston doctor yesterday, who is about way old, but super nice, and he confirmed that I have acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL). And then I flew home. And my mom pretty much packed for me. I was more of a lump than any sort of help. Not a cancerous lump though, so that's good. Actually, wait. .... I suppose that technically, I was a cancerous lump... hmm. Anyway. Today I went to the cancer clinic at the University of Chicago hospital. It's one of the best in the midwest (what, what!) in terms of treatment. They took more blood (I'm suprised I have any left) and told me about what the next two years of my life are going to look like. That's right, two years.
Basically, the full leukemia treatment is going to cover the next 24 months. I'll be 22 when this is all finished. That's weird. And also somewhat scary. murh. But so for the next six or seven months, I will be undergoing intense chemotherapy--a veritable coctail of daily and weekly drugs. Mmm, drugs. crap. I just opened up disk defragmenter, and this isn't my computer. it disappeared; I'm not sure where. oh well. Anyway. So, pills, IVs, yes, even a Spinal Tap! And it all starts tomorrow with another bone-marrow biopsy. I think I'll be in the hospital for between 7 and 9 days, beginning tomorrow. I just hope I can be home for Christmas. This chemo is going to be such a bitch. The nurse told me I'm going to lose my hair, and I was like, "Sweet, you mean I won't have to shave my legs for the next six months?!" She replied with a, "No, you probably won't lose your body hair; just from your head." Damn it. But my eyebrows will remain. Hoo-rah. I'm also going to try and bring in my guitar. We'll see how that goes over. Otherwise, if anyone wants to suggest books or movies or music, I'm not going to have much else to do for a while.
Okay, I am going to go eat dirty, dirty Mexican food with my brother and pater. Megan, you'd cry if you saw this place. Aside from that, I feel fine. I'm doing okay. I'm trying not to think about the next week+. Keep on keeping on, I suppose. Pax from Chicago.

Untitled

So, I'm starting a blog. Anyone and everyone who is interested in how I spend my days for the next few months can check here. I'll try and keep it updated; I'll also try and keep it interesting and mentally stimulating. We'll see. More later.